


Ten More Minutes

by missalline



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, ambulance sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9290558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missalline/pseuds/missalline
Summary: That cardigan came off somehow.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the sex-in-the-back-of-the-ambulance category. 
> 
> Technically spoilers for The Lying Detective.

The ambulance Molly brought with her was definitely, 100% a real, working, fully stocked, fully functional ambulance. Similarly, the driver of said ambulance was definitely, 100% a real paramedic and fully certified to drive it. _However_ , said driver also happened to be one of Molly’s closest friends. And as one of Molly’s closest friends, she had heard more than her share of a slightly tipsy to completely intoxicated specialist registrar gushing about how ridiculously attractive that bloody idiot Sherlock Holmes was and how desperately she wanted to shag his brains out. _And_ , as she figured Sherlock Holmes could actually due with having a little less brains about him, she was happy to just ignore whatever she happed to see or hear occurring in the back of the ambulance she was driving. The bright pink blush that flashed across Molly’s face when she told her this clearly indicated that Molly knew exactly what she meant. But of course Molly wouldn’t act on it, would she?

********

Her first glimpse of Sherlock was enough to put any silly fantasies of fooling around in the back of the ambulance out of Molly’s mind. That was, of course, until the bastard cheekily remarked “Just tell me when to cough.” Then all she could really think about was what exactly his comment, and the following brief smile, had invited her to do. But only in a purely medical fashion, of course. Strictly professional.  

********

Sherlock had jumped right into the ambulance and plopped down on the bench. He started talking as soon as Molly shut the door, spouting off a story and a plan that was ridiculous and stupid and dangerous and could never actually work. But this was Sherlock Holmes. He tended to make the impossible happen. Once he stopped, Molly looked him in the eye and held his gaze for a long, tense moment.

“Are you lying to me?” she asked softly.

“No,” he said, “No, Molly, I am not lying.” And of course she didn’t like it, but this was _Sherlock_ , and he was so certain of himself, so she had to trust that it would be okay.

“Well then,” she said, sitting on the bench next to him and checking the time on her phone, “we have roughly ten more minutes in this ambulance together. Want to play 20 questions?” She had meant it as a joke, but he didn’t react. When she turned to look at him he as staring at her, his eyes dark and intense.

“You blushed when I suggested you make me cough,” he said, voice lowed and sensuous, “Is the thought of cupping my testicles… appealing, to you?” The way he cocked his head and slightly narrowed his eyes let Molly know that he knew the answer to that question.

“Don’t be rude,” she admonished, looking down at her hands.

“What if I was offering?” he asked. Molly, who had been tapping her fingertips on her knees, froze. And then started burning up as Sherlock moved to press himself against her. “What if I was offering?” he repeated, “What if I was offering to let you ride _me_ for the rest of our journey?”

Molly shook her head, the rotations started small but soon increasing with intensity. “I shou- _we_ shouldn’t.” _And it would be so much easier to insist on it if your hand wasn’t on the inside of my thigh_.

“Molly,” he whispered, slowly sliding his hand up her leg and causing shivers to run up her spine, “I want this. I _know_ you want this. Won’t you let me make you _feel good_?”

The sensual drawl of the question broke her resolve. She twisted, grabbed his head in her hands, and pulled him in for a desperate kiss. “Touch me,” she gasped, moving to straddle him, “Touch me Sherlock, please.” He was more than happy to oblige as she went for another kiss.

The fingers that had returned to her inner thigh quickly found their mark. The light touch made her keen with pleasure. Soon she was rubbing herself against his fingers seeking whatever pleasure she could. Her own hand dropped from his cheek to cup his already erect penis through his trousers.

“Molly,” Sherlock groaned when the pressure apparently became too much for him, “why on _earth_ do you still have your tights on?” The frustration evident in his voice made her laugh, but she jumped back and quickly stripped off her tights and pants.

“Better?” she asked as she hiked up her skirt and climbed back onto the bench to straddle him again.

“Almost perfect.” Slowly, he reach up, pushed her coat off of her shoulders, then the cardigan, and finally undid each of the buttons on her shirt. “Have I ever told you how lovely your breasts are?” he asked. One of his hands was holding her just beneath her ribs to keep her steady. The other was undoing the (blessedly) front-clasp on her bra.

“You said they’re small.”

“I like small,” he said, “honest. If you look under my bed you’ll find a stack of dirty magazines featuring small-breasted women.” With that he leaned forward and took one pert nipple in his mouth. Molly was so distracted _Sherlock Holmes sucking on her nipple_ that she barely noticed him single-handedly reaching down, undoing his zip, and pulling out his erection. “I want to fuck you, Molly Hooper,” he mumbled against her chest, “impale yourself on my cock. _Now_.” At any other time dealing with any other request she would take issue with his tone, but the head of his penis was lined up where it needed to be and promising such amazing things, so she sank down and _oh god did that feel good._

“You’ll need to do most of the work,” he told her, _finally_ getting to the as-yet neglected breast, “but I can pinch and press and rub on your wonderful little clit.” His fingers where there as soon as he said it, and Molly began to move as much as the space and awkward positioning would allow.

They didn’t say anything else while they fucked in the back of the ambulance. Their silence was partly because Sherlock refused to take his mouth off of Molly’s breasts, partly because she felt so good that she couldn’t even form a coherent thought, and partly because they didn’t need to. The moans and gasps and sighs escaping both of them was all they needed to hear.

As soon as Sherlock felt in the indicators that he was about to come he redoubled his efforts on Molly’s clit. Part of him wanted to deny her orgasm, wanted to leave her gasping for him so that he could have her again at another time, but he knew that wasn’t fair. So he worked her, holding her steady as she came shuddering around him. She relaxed against his chest, panting, which allowed him to use both of his hands to hold her pelvis as close to his as possible. Since the tightening of her muscles was more than enough to trigger orgasm, all he needed to do was hold her.

They allowed themselves a grand total of a minute of relaxed closeness before she climbed off of him and began righting herself. Their timing was impeccable. The ambulance slowed down and came to a stop as soon as she had done the last button on her shirt. Not having time for the cardigan, she grabbed her coat off of the floor and pulled it on.

“You want to me lie to him?” she confirmed, “Tell him that you’re worse than you really are?”

Sherlock nodded, then swooped in to steal one last kiss. “We _will_ have to do this again sometime.” He’d barely stepped back from her and grabbed his coat before the doors opened, summoning them both back into this dangerous and impossible plan.


End file.
